Chapter 15
Setting the Hook
That night Jacob Finley stepped off the LeBlanc lobster boat Celeste and was immediately confronted by Little Guy LeBlanc, who had a seriously bandaged nose.
“Your fucking brother punched me in the nose!” he shouted, pushing Jacob hard in the chest.
Jacob had no idea what he was talking about, but he didn’t like to be pushed, either. “Hey! Watch it! I have no fucking idea what you are talking about, but you push me again, Guy, you’ll be sorry.”
But Guy, who had been brooding for the last two hours, was beyond caring. “I was minding my own damn business and your brother punched me for no fucking reason!” he shouted, spraying spittle. Then he shoved Jacob hard a second time.
Jacob had been working hard for months and his arms and shoulders had thickened with muscle. He shoved Guy back, and the force of it pushed Little Guy directly into his father.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” Guy LeBlanc yelled, grabbing both Little Guy and Jacob by the front of their shirts.
“He pushed me!” his son said, pointing at Jacob and trying in vain to break his father’s hold on his shirt. Jacob, suddenly conscious that his job was on the line, stood still, content to let things calm down.
“You push my boy?” Guy LeBlanc snarled at Jacob.
“Mr. LeBlanc, I don’t know what’s going on here. As soon as I stepped on the dock, Guy started screaming at me something about my little brother, then he pushed me hard. I told him to back off and he pushed me a second time. I didn’t hit him or anything, but I did push him back.”
Guy LeBlanc stared at him suspiciously for a minute, then turned to his son. “That right, Guy? What he said?”
Little Guy seemed caught between conflicting impulses to fight or run. Eyes down, he muttered. “I ran into Calvin on the docks when he came in to sell his catch. He punched me in the nose.” He glared at Jacob. “Punched me for no fucking reason!” he shouted.
Guy LeBlanc turned back to Jacob, who gestured helplessly. “I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about, Mr. LeBlanc. Hell, I’ve been on this boat since 6 a.m. and just got off. Ask your brother.”
“Ask me what?” a deep voice intruded.
Guy LeBlanc seemed to shrink back and grow smaller as Jean-Philippe LeBlanc stepped onto the dock. Little Guy cast his eyes back down to the dock.
“These boys got into a pushing match and-” Guy LeBlanc stopped abruptly at his brother’s glare.
“Not you,” Jean-Philippe snarled. “Him!” He pointed at Little Guy, who was now trembling.
“We was just funnin’ with him,” Little Guy blurted. “Me and Paul and Martin. We got his bag of lobsters and told him we’d sell them back to him. Then he just up and hit me for no good reason. I think he broke my nose!”
Guy LeBlanc looked disgusted. “You telling me that you took Calvin Finley’s lobsters and tried to make him buy them back from you? And rather than pay you, he hit you and took them back?”
Little Guy stood there, a figure of shame, anger and terror. His father suddenly slapped the side of his head with one meaty hand. “That’s for takin’ somebody else’s lobsters that they done worked for!” he shouted, then slapped Little Guy even harder on the head with his other hand. “And that’s for being such a pussy that the three of you couldn’t take one kid in a fight!” He gave Little Guy a shove down the dock. “Now get on home; I’ll talk to you more when I get there.”
He turned to Jacob. “We okay here?” he said brusquely.
“Sure, Mr. LeBlanc, everything’s okay.” Jacob might not be book-smart like his brother, but he knew when to concede gracefully.
“Okay, then.” Guy LeBlanc nodded at his brother, then turned and walked away, his entire body stiff with anger. Or, perhaps, fear.
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Never one to let an opportunity pass, Jean-Philippe took Jacob by the elbow. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.” They walked to the bar – the Harbor Watch – just a few yards off the dock.
Jean-Philippe knew men, not that Jacob Finley was a hard man to read. He knew Jacob was afraid that somehow, he would be blamed for his brother’s scuff-up with Little Guy and that it could cost him his job.
Fear was good.
Fear could be used.
“Listen, don’t worry,” he assured the young man. “I know Little Guy can be a jerk sometimes. He’s impulsive and he’s got a temper. But you’re family now; you’ve got every right to stand up to him when he’s being an asshole.” He signaled the bartender for two beers and they took a table. The barkeeper, who knew exactly how old Jacob was, decided that perhaps it was best if he did not ask Jacob Finley for any ID to verify he was of drinking age.
“So,” LeBlanc continued amiably, “what are you going to do with the extra money you’re earning?”
Jacob took a gulp of his beer. “First, I wanna get a motorcycle. Something used, I guess.” He smiled slyly. “Unless you want to give me a big raise or something.”
LeBlanc snorted in amusement. “Yeah, well, don’t get ahead of yourself, Jake.”
Jacob blinked. Jake? Nobody called him Jake. His family always called him Jacob, but he liked the sound of Jake. It sounded…more mature.
“Why a motorcycle?” LeBlanc asked casually.
“Oh, you know, getting around on my own. Don’t have to depend on my Dad to give me a ride.”
LeBlanc nodded. “Makes sense.” Then he set the hook. “You’ve got a real job now. A man shouldn’t have to depend on his parents to get to work in the morning.”
That’s for sure! Jacob thought. “I’ve been looking around at some used bikes, but no matter how you cut it, I’m gonna have to save up like three grand to afford one.” Jacob took another gulp of his beer. “I should have enough by the end of July or so.”
Sometimes it just falls into your lap, LeBlanc thought. “You know, I’ve owned a number of bikes over the years. Guess I’ve got three or four lying around. I could loan you one, a real sweet Honda Shadow, until you get your own bike.”
Jacob could hardly believe it. “Really? That would be swell!”
LeBlanc suppressed a laugh. The kid had no idea. “Don’t thank me too much. It’s ten years old and needs a tune-up. And if I were you, I’d get a new rear tire; it’s got some miles on it. But the engine is good and she rides well.”
Jacob was delighted. “This is cool! Thanks, Mr. LeBlanc. Really, thanks a million.”
“No problem.” LeBlanc said. “I’ll bring it here tomorrow afternoon after we get back in. You can have it then.” He stood up. “Remember, tomorrow is a workday for you. Get some sleep and be ready for a hard day tomorrow. We’ll be moving about three hundred traps to new spots, so we’ll all be working our asses off. I expect you at the docks tomorrow at 5:30 a.m. sharp. Tomorrow’s a short day, should be back around 3 p.m. or so, so you’ll have plenty of time to take your bike for a spin and get a good feel for it. Make sure you wear a helmet! You’re no good to me in the hospital with a busted head.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. LeBlanc,” Jacob promised.
As LeBlanc left the Harbor Watch, he saw Katie Montgomery standing outside. “Tomorrow afternoon I’m giving a motorcycle to Jake Finley,” he told her softly. “When he’s getting it ready, maybe you can introduce yourself or something. And be sure to call him Jake, not Jacob.”
She looked at him with flat brown eyes, her face expressionless. “Yeah, okay,” she said.
Chapter 16
Jacob and Calvin
Calvin was still at the breakfast table when Jacob walked into the kitchen. “Up early,” he commented through a mouth full of oatmeal.
“Don’t want to be late today. Boat’s leavin’ the dock at 5:30 a.m. sharp,” Jacob replied through a yawn.
Calvin pursed his lips in thought – their father’s alarm clock wouldn’t go off until 5:30 a.m., too late to help Jacob. “Grab some food and I’ll run you down in Mom’s car,” he said.
“What about your
morning swim?” his brother asked.
“It’s only five minutes down to the dock and five back. I’ll still swim. You’d do it for me.”
“Well, yeah,” Jacob replied. “But that’s because you are such a helpless dork.”
______________
Finley’s alarm went off at 5:30 a.m., as always. He sat on the edge of the bed, shaking the remnants of sleep from his mind, then walked down the hallway to the boys’ room. “Jacob-” he began, but stopped.
Both beds were empty.
Curious, he went downstairs to the kitchen. Calvin was still at the sink, rinsing his dishes. His hair was dry, so he hadn’t been swimming yet. No sign of Jacob, but there was an extra plate and coffee mug in the sink – Jacob’s spoor.
“Where’s your brother?” Finley asked, rubbing his cheek to speed the wake-up process.
“Hi, Dad,” Calvin said. “He had to be at the dock by 5:30 a.m., so I borrowed Mom’s car and drove him down.”
Finley blinked, digesting the news. “What about your morning swim?”
“Just about to go out. I’ll do a short one today and still catch the bus for school.”
Danielle wandered in, hair already combed and pulled tightly against her head. She kissed her husband’s cheek and turned to the coffee pot.
“Jacob has already eaten and gone to work,” Finley told her wonderingly. “Calvin drove him to the dock.”
Danielle nodded. “I saw them leave in the Subaru.” She turned to Calvin. “Keys?”
“In the basket, Mom,” he told her, pointing to the little bamboo basket they used to hold all the car keys.
“Thank you,” she said. She glanced at her husband and raised her eyebrows, silently communicating, Our kids are growing up!
Finley took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding back to her. Who would have figured?
Chapter 17
Should Have Married a Librarian
On Wednesday night, Finley got a call from Honeycutt. “Can we talk tonight?” he asked.
Finley glanced at the dinner table, where his family was waiting for him to join them. “Sure. Give me ninety minutes, just sitting down for supper with my family.”
“Good,” Honeycutt replied. “Usual place?”
They signed off and Finley sat back down at the table. Danielle looked at him from the corner of her eye and he nodded once by way of reply. Two years earlier, when Honeycutt had first approached him about moving to North Harbor and working undercover for the DEA, Finley had sat down with his wife and told her everything.
“Michael Corcoran is a snake,” his wife had told him, “and whether or not he is involved in something criminal with the drug cartel, he will try to hurt you if he finds out you are an undercover agent placed in his police department.”
“I’ll be careful,” Finley assured her.
“I’ll go along with this on one condition,” she said. “You have to keep me apprised about everything you’re doing. I don’t care if it’s secret or not, you have to tell me. I need to know when you might be in danger. And one other thing.” She paused, looking him in the eyes and reminding him so much of her ferocious mother that it scared him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You have to buy me a gun and show me how to use it,” she said bluntly. “Because if Michael Corcoran is dirty and decides that he has to get rid of you, he won’t stop with you. He’ll come for all of us.”
“I won’t let that happen,” he promised her.
“Neither will I,” she said firmly.
In the end, he purchased two guns for her, a pistol and a Sportical assault-style rifle. Once a week when the boys were in school, they went to a shooting range and she fired hundreds of rounds through them both. She would never qualify to be on a SWAT team, but she would be a nasty surprise for anyone coming into her home thinking she was nothing more than a housewife.
Now Finley and his wife exchanged a look, and with that look she knew that whatever it was that was happening, it was happening soon.
After dinner, Finley helped clear the dishes, then got his jacket and car keys. “I shouldn’t be more than two hours,” he told his wife softly.
“Are you armed?” she replied, kissing him on the cheek.
“Always.”
“There are nights I dream I married a librarian,” she said. “Fixed hours. No guns.”
“You’d be bored to death in a week,” he told her.
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But what a week!”
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The “usual place” was the Blue Hill Co-op coffee shop in Blue Hill, about a forty-minute drive away. Sometimes they met inside, sometimes they met in the parking lot. Tonight was a parking lot night. Honeycutt was there already, sitting in an inconspicuous Ford of indeterminate color. Finley was invisible in his black Ford Taurus. He got out and joined Honeycutt.
“You sure you’re a big shot in the DEA?” Finley asked. “Whenever I see this car, I wonder if they are actually paying you a salary.”
“Never draw attention to yourself. Ten minutes from now, not one person in this parking lot will be able to describe this car,” Honeycutt replied smugly.
Finley made a show of studying Honeycutt’s car. “What color is that thing, anyway?”
Honeycutt looked at him sideways. “It is a special color I picked out myself: ‘Indiscernible.’”
“Yeah, well, I see why it’s your favorite,” Finley said. “What’ve you got?”
Honeycutt slipped into business mode. “Remember I told you I thought the Cartel would have a shipment here within a month? Well, I was wrong. We’ve been picking up a lot of satellite phone transmission from a small freighter called the Tampa Bay, bound for Saint John in New Brunswick. Listed cargo is fertilizer. Panamanian flag. But the interesting thing is that its last stop was Altamira, Mexico.”
Finley could feel the vein pulse in his forehead. “And where were the satellite phone calls placed to?” He could barely suppress his excitement.
Honeycutt grinned. “Mazatlán, Sinaloa, Mexico.”
“Goddamn!” Finley breathed.
“The calls were encrypted, but there were several of them. Although Mazatlán is a port, the Tampa Bay did not originate there or ever stop there. The calls have been traced to the warehouse district, but the boys and girls at NSA couldn’t tell us more than that.”
“Has to be drugs,” Finley declared. “We know the Cartel ships out of Altamira and Tampico.”
Honeycutt nodded. “Here’s the thing, Frank. The Tampa Bay is somewhere off Maryland now, steaming at twelve knots. It will be going through the Gulf of Maine into the Bay of Fundy this time Friday night.”
“But-”
Honeycutt held up a hand, palm out, to forestall him. “Relax, I’ve already got the Coast Guard shadowing the freighter. When it gets into Maine waters, the Rockland Coast Guard Station will take over. They’ll have a 110-foot cutter that will be the base of operations. It carries three heavy machine guns and can launch a small, fast boat, which also carries a machine gun. But the real beauty is that they’ll have a LUNA drone. It can constantly circle over the freighter and take pictures for about six to eight hours. Good cameras. They can zoom in tight and tell you the color of the guys’ eyes.”
“That will make a difference,” Finley said dryly.
Honeycutt grunted. “Anyway, the LUNA will be able to see if they throw anything overboard and can mark the exact location. The Coasties can then sit back and wait to see who comes to pick it up.”
“What can possibly go wrong?” Finley asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Honeycutt grimaced. “Plenty, and then some. One thing I am worried about: Henry Mitchell.”
Finley frowned. “I’m pretty sure he is no longer an active player,” he said sarcastically.
Honeycutt, a serious chess player, shook his head. “Mitchell went into the water three days ago. It’s a long shot, but if the current carries his body down th
e coast, he could wash up around North Harbor any minute now. If someone finds him, and if he is full of bullet holes, there will be a big stink. Press coverage. Lots of noise.”
Finley sighed. “And if that happens, the Cartel will almost certainly call off the drop Friday night.” He should have thought of it himself. A very strong current ran from the mouth of the Bay of Fundy down the Maine coast. While the odds were slim that Mitchell’s body would turn up, they weren’t non-existent.
Honeycutt nodded. “If someone finds him, we’ll have to try to keep it out of the news for a couple of days.”
“It’s not the news I’m worried about,” Finley admitted. “We know some of the police departments in the area are dirty, we just don’t know which ones. If the wrong police department finds him, they’ll get word to the Cartel and whatever drugs are on that ship will just disappear.”
Honeycutt held up his hands. “Like I said, it’s a long shot. Just keep your ear to the ground. Let me know right away if you hear anything. As to the rest, Friday could be our big chance. Weather report is fair, with calm seas. High clouds, so the LUNA will be able to fly. And to top it off, we can get the Coast Guard helicopter from Rockland if we need it.
“The freighter can’t run, not from the cutter,” he continued. “Either they don’t drop the drugs, in which case we’ve arranged for a search when they reach Saint John, or they do throw them over, in which case the Coast Guard keeps the drop point under surveillance.” Honeycutt raised both hands, palms up. “I think we’ve got it covered.”
“What about me?” Finley asked. “For once, I’m not on duty Friday night.”
“Well, I am going to be sitting in the Command trailer, twelve miles north of you, in Brooklin. You’re more than welcome to sit in and enjoy the show.” The older agent smiled. “There’s nothing like a good chase.”
Finley got home before ten o’clock. Danielle was waiting for him in the kitchen. He smiled at her, then gestured with his chin, asking ‘Where are the boys?’ She in turn pointed upstairs to their bedroom, where he could vaguely hear the sounds of a video game.
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